Strange How Hard It Rains Now
by somersaulter
Summary: It is a hot, humid, brightly sunny day. He is always making you worry.


**strange how hard it rains now  
**light dean/sam _(supernatural)_  
pg-13  
(brief 'heart' spoilers)  
disclaimer: I wish, but alas, not mine.

* * *

It is a hot, humid, brightly sunny day. The rays cut through the Impala, neatly severing the car into half, his half and you half. He is in the sunlight, eyes empty, staring upwards out the side window. His hair shines. Illuminates.

You reach for your abandoned jacket in the back and shove it towards him. _Sammy,_ _roll the window up and_ c_over it, you'll blind yourself_, you tell him.

He shakes his head and mumbles something intelligible and wraps his arms around your jacket, like he is cold.

You stare at the long straight road ahead of you, trying to mentally calculate how long you are going straight, how long before the light turns to your side, how long before the harsh slaps of sunlight leave your brother alone.

When he was nineteen, he used to shine in the light, waving goodbye to you as he got into the car to California.

* * *

You stop at a diner at the side of the road to grab some lunch. He says he has no appetite and waits in the car. _I'll get you something to eat in the car_, you promise nevertheless.

The food tastes dry as you sit alone in a hard, angular booth. You leave the diner, feeling emptier than before.

He stands at the other side of the road, overlooking a huge savannah. Miles and miles of nothing but vegetation.

The sun hides behind the clouds, and the air begins to kick up a fuss. It lifts his hair clear off his face, tugging it backwards. His face is blank, staring.

The air then decides to throw a huge tantrum, whipping up its own cloud of sand. You watch as he suddenly flinches, hand reaching up to his left eye, rubbing.

You throw his lunch into the car and run over, _Sammy?_

_Sand_, he mutters.

You put one hand on the side of his head to stop him from struggling and the other to pull his eye open. He is taller than you.

_I got it, stop moving_, you blow gently in his rapidly reddening pupil. It is shining with liquid, the eye responding to the foreign irritant.

He shakes you off when you get it out, but not before you realizes his other eye is red and shining as well.

When he was eleven, he used to look so happy with the wind running through his hair, you training him to use a shotgun using beer bottles as targets in Caleb's backyard.

* * *

You wake up easily. The click of the door closing against its frame is like thunder to your ears, plus, you are just getting to sleep after lying awake for the –

You glance at the digital clock. Three hours.

And then a deep rumble in the distance and a sharp clapping make you realize perhaps it is really thunder that wakes you.

You sit up and find that the bed beside yours is disturbingly empty. Rumpled, but empty. You feel your heart twist as the urgency of the thunder roars into your ears and a flash of lightning throws the room into a ghastly blue scene.

_Sammy_, you call out in the direction of the bathroom, but you know he isn't really there. _Oh fuck_, you grab your jacket and tore through the door. But you do not have to head far.

He is standing in the middle of the parking lot, head tilted towards the sky.

_Sammy, storm's coming, come back here_, you yell, a little angry at him for making you worry. He is always making you worry.

He pretends he doesn't hear you, or maybe he really doesn't hear you, with the thunder roaring persistently. You run up just as the sky let loose its fury.

_Oh fuck_, you curse aloud, shielding your head with your jacket, _Sam! _The rain seeps through your shirt and pants, cold and wet. You shiver involuntarily as it tickles you mercilessly. This isn't fun.

He hardly flinches, head at an angle, staring curiously at the sky. _Sam!_ You throw the jacket over him to cover you both, but he looks at you for a moment before he sinks to his knees, as if his own legs can't hold him up. You kneels down beside him, jacket over him.

You wipe away the hair plastered sticky to his face. Your heart clenches at the look on his face, and you know the wetness on his cheeks doesn't come solely from up above.

_Sam_, you whisper, hearing your own voice break unsteadily.

_I just want to feel something_, he says, eyes wide and pleading.

You put your hand on his heart, the steady beat throbbing against your palm, _but you do feel. That's why you're here._ _That's why I'm here. I'm here._

His face crumbles and he reaches for you. You meet him halfway, abandoning the jacket and reaching around his shoulders. You hear him, feel him, sob over your shoulder.

When he was four, he used to love to play in the rain with his Wellingtons boots. You would stay with him and watch, just to make sure he didn't stay out too long and get sick.


End file.
